Cinder's Fall
by The84thWolf
Summary: Remnant holds many dark mysteries. Where did Cinder come from? What is her connection to Salem? How did she become who she is? Story based on theory I had surrounding Cinder and Salem (now debunked).


**_Part One: The Edge_**

The gate burst open.

"Wake up, Runt!"

The girl woke from her bed of hay with a start. A man stood at the entrance to the stall. He glared at her with impatience.

"Get up! Or you're not eating for the day!"

The girl scrambled to her feet, wincing slightly at the bruises that covered the last few days of captivity. Bruises that eventually faded, but never completely went away. The girl couldn't quite remember the last time she didn't wake up to bruises.

The man, a bandit named Devon, picked at his teeth with a piece of wood, his other hand tapping his hip holster where his favorite custom six-shooter rested. "Time to earn your keep, Runt. Get in the house and start stripping it down. Check the usual places. You don't bring back anything, you don't come back at all." While the threat wasn't genuine, the tone was. The girl hurried past Devon, who shoved her hard in the back with his boot and sent her stumbling out the door of the barn she had taken shelter the night before. Outside, a couple dozen other bandits were already working, pitching tents, erecting barricades, or searching the buildings for loot. The farm they had raided late last night covered several acres, the half finished buildings providing good shelter. The surviving family members of the farm were huddled together in the middle of it all, the father hugging his two children close to him, while the children cried tears of grief and fear as the bandits dragged bodies and belongings past them.

The girl hurried to the big house in the center of the property. Unlike the other half finished buildings, this one was fully constructed. Not as fancy as most of the places Devon and his men had raided, but comfortable. Several pictures lined the walls, each showing a variety of people working on the farm. One photo dominated the wall, showing a gathering of nine people, both old and young, huddled around a dinner table. The girl took no notice of them, however, and began to search drawers and closets, pulling out anything valuable looking. She checked for hidden compartments, false drawers, even checking the inside of the chimney for hiding spots. These places had been plundered before in previous raids and more often than not contained weapons, lein, or some other special treasure.

How long had she been Devon's personal treasure finder? Runt, the only name she had been given or remembered, had been very young when Devon captured her. Runt could no longer remember her life without him, due to the many years of misery and abuse. Devon, for whatever reason, had taken a liking to the girl and had brought her with him, using her to squeeze into hard to reach places to unlock doors, windows, and other hiding places where valuables might be kept, or to break into homes. This had turned out to be a sound investment, for Runt discovered she had a keen eye for secret switches, hidden rooms, and other out of the ordinary hints.

Runt climbed onto a desk to search the top of a tall cabinet in the living room and was rewarded with a marksman rifle hidden at the top. Obviously, the attack the night before had been too quick for the owners to use it. She had a fleeting thought, as she always did when finding a weapon, to use it to escape, but she battered the thought away almost as soon as she conceived of it. Not only were Devon and his gang good fighters, but there were far too many of them. Trying to escape would be suicide.

Gathering the valuables on the floor by the entrance, Runt took the rifle and hurried outside. While she had been searching, Devon and his gang had almost completely set up camp. Walls and barricades were still going up, improving on the farms original defenses, but it looked as though most of the camp had been repurposed to accommodate the group. Devon and his strongest allies would take residence in the house, but the rest of the gang had to make due with tents and patching up the other buildings. It had always been this way.

If you wanted better treatment, you had to earn it by beating someone above you. That was Devon's ironclad rule.

Devon was waiting for Runt outside the house. She handed over the weapon and he examined it closely.

"Hmmm...nice find Runt," he mused. "It's a little shorter than a typical rifle...ah here we are."

He presses a button on the grip. The rifle suddenly grew longer at both ends, each side unsheathing a blade. It was now a double bladed staff. Devon admired it for a few seconds, then turned to the man holding his two children. "This is a Huntsman weapon! Were you a Huntsman, sir?"

"N-no," the man stammered. "It was my..." he glance over to where the bodies were being dragged. "It was my father's. He retired."

"Oh I see!" said Devon. "But you didn't take up the torch, huh? Not strong enough?"

The man shook his head. "I just didn't want to fight people. I hate hurting people."

"Like I said," said Devon, a bit of a bite in his tone. "Not strong enough. You lacked the power to push yourself."

He beckoned the man to join him. The man hesitated, then stood as Devon tapped his pistol. He murmured something to his children, then walked forward, wincing a bit as Devon stuck his father's weapon in the dirt and threw his arm around his shoulder.

"Now, listen," Devon said, dropping his voice. "I have to give you some points for trying to build something way out here. That took balls. But you're not a fighter. Were you hoping everyone else would take care of you?"

The man slumped his shoulders and remained silent. Devon continued, "Were you a leader? A planner? What are your strengths?"

The man licked his dry lips. "I'm just a farmer, sir. A good one. I have connections, we can pay you. Please, just let my children go back to the city, and I will pay whatever you want. You have my word."

Devon laughed. "So you would be okay with me taking your property, killing your friends and family, as long as your kids are safe?"

The man turned away as best he could with Dustin's arm clamped around his shoulder. "I would never forgive you for that, but if I can save my children, I will do anything."

Devon's good natured smile vanished. "You really are weak."

He drew his pistol and shot him in the chest.

The children screamed. The man coughed, blood trickling from his mouth. Devon shifted this weight, keeping the man upright. He leaned in. "Don't worry. Your kids will be safe...for now. I might have let you go to be honest, but powerless people like you, who solely depend on others, begs and compromises at the first sign of trouble, don't deserve to exist."

The man's eyes dimmed and he slumped, leaving Devon holding a dead weight.

"Oi!" called out Devon to a few of his men. "Burry this guy outside the walls would you? And dig a proper hole, don't just throw him in a gully." That was one of Devon's stranger quirks; he was a murderer, but respected his dead. He once told Runt privately that leaving someone rotting in the sun was the epitome of laziness and incivility. Two men hurried forward and, careful not to allow the body to hit the ground, carried it off into the woods as the children sobbed.

"Why did you do that for, Devon? We could have made some cash."

This remark was made by Ross, a new recruit in Devon's gang. Ross used to be the head of a small gang himself in Mistral, but the police had cracked down on them, forcing Ross and his few remaining followers to abandon the city. Running into Devon's group, he was pressured into joining by his four remaining starving followers. Since that day, Ross had been testing the waters, trying to gather allies. Devon had known, of course, but it amused him to watch. He had told his lieutenants that while he acknowledged some of Ross's ideas, then man wasn't powerful enough to sway too many people to his side. Now, Ross stood, surrounded by about a dozen men and women he had managed to tempt, but he was still outnumbered five to one. That didn't seem to bother him, and he stood with his arms folded, a challenge in his eye.

Devon looked over at him in amusement. "Why would I have taken such an offer? You think he wouldn't give us trouble?"

Ross glared at him.

"It was worth a shot for some quick cash. Get one payment, then poof before anyone's the wiser."

A couple Ross's followers gave low mutters in agreement.

"And how long would it be before a Huntsman turned up?" countered Devon. "Keeping hostages just increases the chance word will get out we're here. If no one hears from the family, they'll assume Grimm got to them."

Ross glowered. "So what? You were scared you couldn't control a farmer and a couple of kids? I could have done that with half of the men you have."

More and more people began to surround them, each one grinning in anticipation of a fight. Devon looked Ross over. "You think you can run this place group better than me?"

This was Ross's last chance to back out, but with his followers behind him, he felt bolstered. "Yeah, I could. You're too cautious Devon, you can't imagine taking risks for rewards."

This last comment sounded good and the people around Ross cheered and jeered in equal measure. Devon smiled, then called out to a group of workers digging a pit by the edge of the property. "Oi, Joel, you got that arena dug yet?"

Joel poked his head out from the pit. "It's only about four feet deep boss. We haven't even worked on the walls yet."

"Take a break boys!" shouted Devon. "Why wait? Let's have our first match!"

The group cheered and helped the diggers out of their hole. The "arena" was a new pet project of Devon's, an official place where the gang could unwind by betting on fighters. The fighters would win a share of the winnings, but more importantly, they would move up the camp's ranking system. This meant better lodging, a bigger share of loot, and better food.

And in the case of someone beating Devon, they became the leader of the camp. There were just two rules in the arena; death or submission for fights. And for the top spot, no submission was allowed.

Devon and Ross jumped down into the pit as the rest of the group gathered around the edge, some immediately taking bets. Devon beckoned to Joel and he jumped down to act as referee. Joel turned to Ross. "How would you challenge Devon? Weapons or fists?"

Ross adjusted his belt where his pistol hung. "Weapons," he said. It was a risky move, but Devon had a significant physical advantage anyway. Ross knew Devon was a skilled quick-drawer, but Ross had secretly been practicing and watching him. Ross was confident he was now quicker than Devon and that if he could land the first shot, he would come on top. He stared into Devon's eyes, watchful of any telltale flickers of movement.

Joel motioned for quiet, glancing at the two men. "Ready?"

They nodded. Joel unholstered his own pistol, pointed it into the sky, and fired.

It was over in an instant. Ross's pistol was only halfway out of his holster before Devon's fired, hitting him directly in the heart. Ross crumpled to the ground, a look of shock on his face. The crowd cheered and collected their winnings, while others moaned in disappointment of the short bout. Devon twirled his pistol before holstering it and raised his arms in triumph. "That's game, boys!" He looked down at Ross. "He actually got closer than I thought he would. Bury him with the other guy will you?"

Two more bandits leaped down and hauled the body out of the pit. Devon clapped Joel on the shoulder. "Let's get this thing finished. I got some more ideas how to use this later." His eyes tracked over Runt and his new prisoners and a grin spread across his face.

 ** _Part Two: The Push_**

And so, Devon's gang settled down on the outskirts of society, waylaying travelers making their way between kingdoms. Whether it was Dust merchants paying a "toll," trainyards paying for "protection," or just an unlucky couple making their way to visit family in another kingdom, Devon and his crew stole enough to live quite comfortably. Devon even began forcing his lowest level members to learn to farm so they would not solely rely on travelers. Not only that, he spent almost as much time organizing raiding parties than actual robbing, never having his gang ambush the same area consistently. Devon had learned from the more lazy and greedy bandits and his tactics allowed his gang to stay relatively under Mistral's radar. The few times he risked entering Mistral to trade their loot for supplies, he began to whisper of a Grimm attack on their new hideout, leaving no survivors. The whispers worked and no one bothered to confirm the story.

Meanwhile, Runt and the two new captives, Eve and Eric, were forced to serve them. When they weren't working on the farm itself, they were at the beck and call of the bandits. They served them food and drink, worked on barricades, cleaned clothes, and whatever else the bandits could think of. The bandits were not kind. They often kicked the children, calling them slow, stupid and weak. Sometimes they went to sleep hungry if Devon felt they hadn't earned their keep. They were forced to share the same horse stall in the barn, partly because the others were for storage and housing to some of the bandits with low ranking, and partly to keep a close eye on them.

Times were hard for the three children, especially Eve and Eric. Their home was stolen, their family murdered, and now forced to live as slaves. Eric, the younger, cried nearly every night for two weeks. Eve, the elder sister, was a little stronger, but Runt knew it was a front for her younger brother. Over the past month, they tried to escape twice, each time getting caught and all three of them were beaten. Eve once tried to take a knife to Devon during one of their meals, but Devon swiftly disarmed her, laughed, then separated her from her brother for three days. This was enough to convince them never to try escaping again, a lesson that had drilled into Runt long ago. After another month of resigned obedience, Devon began taking one or two of them at a time with him on raids to help carry supplies back to camp. Separating the siblings turned out to be the most effective way to discourage an escape, as one would refuse to run, leaving the other behind.

One day, Devon brought all three of them and a larger than normal raiding party to the outskirts of the forest. Everyone gathered around to hear the details.

"All right everyone," said Devon. "Thanks to our boys in town, we got news of a caravan from Argus crossing by here on its way into Mistral. Apparently, some big shot merchant hired a private company to escort him there instead of taking the train. Wanted to enter the city in style."

The bandits laughed and shook their heads in amusement. Runt rolled her eyes at the merchant's stupidity.

"Now, I've taken the precaution of bringing a few more of us than usual. The plan is to ambush them at the crossroad ahead. We do this fast and quiet, and we won't have to fire a shot. Bodies attract Huntsmen, so do me a favor and don't kill anyone unless you have to. You three," he added, pointing to the men. "Stay here. You're on babysitting duty. Once we have things under control, we'll call you in to help carry the loot."

The three men grumbled, but nodded. Devon turned to the children. "You three don't cause any trouble, or we'll skin you alive. Let's go," he said to his men and they disappeared into the woods.

They didn't have to wait long before they heard gunshots in the distance. After a few seconds of silence, more gunshots were heard, increasing in volume and intensity. Apparently, the caravan didn't want to give up so easily and a real fight had broken out. For a good two minutes, there was nothing but the sound of gunfire.

"What do we do?" said one of them men, vainly trying to see the battle through the trees.

One of the others tapped his fingers on his gun barrel. "We wait. The boss can handle himself, but he'll either come for us or we'll be hidden from the supply wagons."

The third peeked around a tree, trying to get a better look. "I don't like staying here. It's only a matter of time before—"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as a Creep leapt from behind the tree and sunk it's teeth into his neck. The children screamed and the bandits cursed. They fired at the Grimm, but even as it fell, two more ran out from behind them. Sweeping their claws in quick strikes, the Creeps dispatched the bandits. As the bodies fell, Runt stumbled backwards and tripped over a tree root, falling backwards with a cry. The Grimm turned to her, blood dripping from their claws and jaws.

"Help!" screamed Runt.

She saw Eve look at her for a second, eyes flickering between the forrest and Runt. She looked at the weapons at the feet of the Creeps and to her brother, who was frozen in fear. She looked at Runt again, tears in her eyes.

"Sorry," she said. "I can't." She seized Eric's hand and vanished into the woods.

Runt's heart was pounding in her chest and her mind was filled of fear and sadness at Eve's abandonment. But more than that, she felt a feeling of rage she had never experienced before.

 ** _Coward._**

The voice reflected her own thoughts, but it was a voice she had never heard before.

 ** _Weak, pathetic. She will pay._**

Time seemed to slow as the Grimm snarled and leaped toward her.

 ** _Destroy your enemies! Bring them pain! KILL THEM!_**

A explosion seemed to take place in Runt's chest and she instinctively threw her hand toward the Grimm.

There was a sound like a swarm of angry wasps and what seemed like a thousand leaves flew toward the Grimm, riddling them with a barrage of missiles. The Grimm were knocked back, mortally wounded, darkness leaking from hundreds of holes in their bodies. They snarled in rage and pain, but were unable to move.

Runt looked down at her shaking hands. How had she done that? What did she do? She tried to repeat the gesture at the Grimm, but nothing happened. She felt exhausted and drained.

A sound behind Runt made her turn around. Devon and his gang entered the clearing, staring at the devastation. Devon walked over to where the Grimm were still writhing in pain and picked up one of the projectiles. He studied it closely.

"Amazing," he whispered. He looked at Runt. "I don't know how you did it, Runt, but I think you unlocked your Semblance."

"S...s...semblance?" asked Runt.

"It's a special power unique to you," he said, testing the leaf he was holding. "This is sharp as a nail and hard as metal. And..." he added, looking closely at the pattern on the leaf. "It looks like it was remade from broken materials. If I had to name this...I would call it 'Reforging.' It's quite impressive." He glanced at her again, and an unpleasant smile appeared on his face. "This will make tonight much more entertaining."

He pulled out his pistol and with two quick blasts finished off the Grimm. As the Creeps began to disintegrate, he called out to his men. "Load up what we can from what's left of the supplies. You four, see if you can track down those two kids. If we can't find them by tomorrow, we'll have to break down camp before they get to Mistral. In the meantime, the rest of us will head back." His grin grew wider. "This may be our last night here, so let's make it memorable."

 ** _Part Three: The Fall_**

That night, a meeting was called around the arena. A lot had changed since the first match that took place there. The area stretched about twenty feet in a circle and about ten feet deep, torches lining its walls. The sides were reinforced with wood and the arena itself already bore the signs of fights with bullet holes, sword slashes, and dried blood.

Devon had been busy the last few hours. Once they arrived back at camp, he send half a dozen men into the woods again for a mysterious errand. While they were gone, he announced to his gang they may have to leave and begin packing just in case. This brought grumbles and complaints, but they complied, taking Runt with them. At sundown, the trackers sent to chase Eve and Erick returned, as well as one of the men Devon had sent earlier. They all had a private meeting inside Devon's room, then announced they had important news. As everyone gathered around the arena, Runt stood next to Devon. She could feel the energy of the men and women around her, a mixture of curiosity, apprehension, and excitement.

Devon stepped to the edge of the arena and called for silence.

"All right everyone!" he called out. "I have some good news and bad news. Bad first: we were unable to track the two brats that escaped during the raid today. It's only a matter of time before they find someone and report us. I could be wrong and they're dead in a ditch somewhere, but we won't take chances. We leave tomorrow afternoon."

The group groaned. Devon held up his hands. "I know, I know, it's a pain, but that's what we're going to do. We'll keep an eye on this place for a few months and if we're lucky we can move back in if no one come by to check on the farm." The bandits muttered to themselves, but no one spoke up. Devon continued, "But there is a little good news. We are always looking to entertain ourselves and had this arena made to blow off steam. Now we may never come back here, so I think it's only fair to have one more big event before we leave. It was something I wanted to surprise you with later, but life has forced my hand."

He grinned and the other bandits looked at each other in excitement. He turned toward the entrance and shouted.

"Baylee, bring it in!"

Several people gasped. Ruby's heart went cold. Six bandits dragged a Beowolf, its legs, arms and jaw bound by sturdy rope. Baylee, the leader of the hunting party, strode over, grinning from ear to ear. "We got it boss. Stupid thing walked right into our trap."

Devon clapped an arm on her shoulder. "Baylee, you continue to impress me. I asked if it was possible and you didn't even hesitate."

Baylee made a mock bow as the bandits applauded and whistled. Devon turned back to the group at large as Baylee and her crew pulled, pushed, and kicked the struggling Grimm into the pit. "Some of you have been complaining about moving up the ranks quicker, so I came up with this idea; defeat a captured Grimm one on one and you can move up at least to the top twenty. That's only a short way away from a lieutenant spot." The bandits murmured in appreciation, some of them already rolling up their sleeves in anticipation of volunteering. "Now the question is, who's first? Well, I thought long and hard on that question and think I've come up with a suggestion we can all get behind."

Runt looked at the surrounding bandits. Slowly, their gaze focused on her. Confused, Runt turned around to see Devon looking down in her with a sick smile. Runt's heart stopped.

"I originally thought of having all the kids fight it. Winner gets a prize. But now we just got one left." Devon raised his boot and shoved Runt back into the pit. Runt fell and collapsed in a heap on the arena floor. "I figured let her finally earn her place. She lives, she joins us. She dies, no great loss." The bandits laughed and cheered.

"You can't do this!" screamed Runt.

"It's not like you won't have a fighting chance," said Devon, tossing down a sword. "Here you go, fair's fair. Why don't you try using your Semblance? That might work."

"I don't know how! Please, someone help me!"

"That's enough," said Devon, his voice suddenly turning from amused to steel in an instant. "I've told you all before, power is everything. I don't have time for weaklings who can't live alone. You were nothing but an experiment Runt. You were lucky I allowed you to live this long. Now prove you're worth keeping." He gave that sick smile again. "Think of this as punishment for allowing the kids to escape. We wouldn't be leaving otherwise."

The Grimm in the pit was struggling harder, the ropes binding it snapping apart. Runt scrambled to the sword on the ground and seized it. It was heavy in her hands and she lost her balance with the unfamiliar weight. The group continued to laugh and shouted encouragement as they took bets.

"I say she bites it in under 30!"

"35, I say!"

"Come on Runt! I get double if you make it past a minute!"

The ropes finally broke. Raising its claws to its mouth, the Beowolf ripped the ropes binding its jaws shut and let out a howl of rage. Turning to the walls, it tried to climb up, but the bandits were ready. The hunting party that captured the Grimm stood around the arena's edge and they held the Grimm at bay with long spears. Seeing no way out, the Grimm's eyes locked onto Runt's. It growled and crouched low, wary for more traps. Time slowed as Runt's thoughts were full of fear and helplessness.

 _Help. Please, someone, anyone help._

 ** _Fool. No one is coming to save you._**

The voice from before had returned. It sounded amused and angry at the same time.

 ** _It's like your master says, the weak don't deserve to be in this world._**

 _I...I am not weak!_

The voice laughed.

 ** _No? Could have fooled me. You go along with him, scared of him, hoping he'll respect you, set you free. You've given up and are waiting for someone to save you, because you can't do it yourself._**

The Grimm stalked back and forth in front of Runt, as if waiting for some unknown signal to pounce and tear her apart. Meanwhile, the smallest flame of anger and resentment began to grow in Runt's heart.

 _I'm just a child! I can't stop them!_

 ** _Who decided that? Who has stopped you from trying? Look at yourself! Frightened and weak! Belittled by a two-bit bandit!_**

 _He is not better than me._

This thought was quiet, small, but as cold as stone. The voice laughed again, but this time there was a hint of excitement.

 ** _No? Who has who on a leash for their entertainment? Who dragged who into a life of servitude without resistance? Who is allowing this to continue?_**

Runt did not know what this voice was or why she continued to talk to it. Maybe she finally lost her sanity. But the more it spoke, the more rage built inside her. Eyes tearing with fury, she locked her gaze on Devon, the man who stole her life, who made him into his plaything. And began to hate herself for submitting to such a man.

 _No._

 ** _No, what?_**

 _I am not letting him do this to me anymore._

 ** _You think you have the right to say that? You are a slave. No, a pet!_**

 _I am a PERSON._

 ** _You don't even have a name! A PET!_**

"NOOOO!" screamed Runt.

Her voice echoed throughout the camp and for a split second, an unearthly silence fell. The bandits suddenly muttered in shock and disbelief, pointing at Runt. Runt glanced down at herself and saw a dark miasmic aura pooling around her. She dropped her weapon and stared at her hands in fear. But with the fear came a sense of unbelievable power. A new feeling overwhelmed her...

 ** _Freedom!_**

The black aura pulled itself from Runt, rotating in a small circle in front of her. The aura grew taller, thickened, forming to a new shape. Finally, with an abrupt finality, the dark aura began to slowly collapse and as it did, it exposed...her.

Her skin was as stark white as her hair which was braided with black ribbons, with red veins crawling up her arms. Her cloak was back as midnight with a strange design on its back. Her face looked familiar to Runt, as if she was looking at herself in the future. It would have been an attractive face, if not for the foreboding dark red eyes, as well as the veins that lingered on the edges of her face as if determined to spread further. A black crystal was centered on her forehead, as if embedded there. She held herself with a strange elegance, her hands folded at her waist, calmly taking in her surroundings. It was hard to see her outline, as if she wasn't completely solid. When she moved, she seemed to glide along the ground. She moved toward the Beowolf and the creature bowed its head, nuzzling against her like a dog greeting its owner after a long absence.

Devon was staring at the two of them in shock. His eyes flickered between the woman and Runt. Slowly, he lowered himself into the pit. Some of the bandits murmured in warning, but Devon dropped the last few feet onto the ground. He stepped forward slowly, his eyes flickering between the woman and the Grimm. The Beowolf growled softly, but the woman hushed it as though calming a baby. Devon seemed to take this as a sign.

"What..." he began, then amended. "Who are you?"

The woman fixed her gaze on him, a hint of a smile on her face.

"Salem," she said. Her voice was one who demanded respect without effort. Runt shivered. Strength and power oozed from this woman. It was...intoxicating.

"Salem," repeated Devon. He risked taking another step closer. "How did you appear here? What do you want?"

Salem's smile grew. "For the how, the main cause is her." She pointed at Runt. "But every single one of you played a part in helping her. I thank you."

The bandits looked at each other in confusion, but a couple began to grin. Maybe this person would reward them.

"As for what I want from you..." Salem's smile fell away. "I want your lives."

Before anyone could do more than exchange glances, Salem opened her mouth and a nightmarish scream rolled through the forest. Everyone clapped their hands to their ears as the high pitched cry threatened to deafen them. Devon himself fell back from her, one ear bleeding from a burst eardrum. Runt curled on the ground, fear engulfing her as the shriek went on and on.

Salem suddenly stopped, but the scream echoed throughout the woods. As the echoes finally began to fade, a new sound was heard. What sounded like thousands of large feet made the ground tremble and barks and howls ripped through the now silent air. The bandits looked at one another in terror. Seizing weapons, they looked around as the sounds grew louder. Suddenly, the walls surrounding the farm began creaking and groaning under a barrage of blows. The gate was not so sturdy and it burst open, flooding the compound with Creeps, Ursas, and Beowolves.

The bandits yelled in alarm and began firing on the Grimm. Dozens fell, but more surged through the gap. Some had managed to crawl over the walls and the bandits found themselves becoming more and more surrounded. One by one, the Grimm began taking them down, some dragging their screaming victims into the thick of them. The night filled with gunfire, howls, curses and screams.

A dagger fell into the pit, landing point first in front of Runt. Seizing it, she looked around. Salem was watching her closely, her smile back in place, unperturbed by the screams around them. Without a word, she rose into the air, looking at the chaos that waged around her. A few bandits fired a few panicked shots at her, but they went right through her as though she was vapor, hitting their allies behind her.

Runt looked at Devon. He was pinned down by the Beowolf, who snapped his jaws, trying to bite him. He managed to pull his pistol, but the Grimm slashed at the weapon, sending it flying across the arena. Runt looked at him, then at the dagger in her hand. She would probably die in this pit, after the Grimm finished off the bandits. Normally, she would curl up in a ball and wait for the inevitable. But this time, she felt something she had never felt before. A desire for vengeance. This was most likely her only chance.

She stepped closer to where Devon struggled. Just a few more seconds and she would bring the knife down on his neck. She would feel satisfaction, just for an instant, before the Beowolf turned on her.

And it would be worth it.

But she was five steps away when Devon gave a roar of effort and snapped the neck of the Grimm with a burst of frenzied strength. As the Beowolf slid off his body, Runt lunged forward, dagger pointing directly at Devon's heart, her eyes locking onto his and...

She froze. She couldn't move. Her mind screamed to dive forward, but it was as if her limbs had turned to stone. Devon slowly rose, not taking his eyes off her's, panting with effort.

"Semblance, Runt," he hissed, his own rage mirroring hers. "You're not the only one to master theirs. Allow me to introduce mine; I like to call it 'Glare.'" He slowly felt his way to where his pistol lay in the dirt. "It comes in useful, I can tell you."

Devon had been using it to win fights, Runt realized. Stunning his opponents at a critical time to gain the upper hand. That's why he always seemed so much faster than anyone. Runt fought with all her might to break free, but was unable to look away from Devon's unblinking eyes. His hands closed on his weapon and he raised it, pointing it at her.

"Now," he said. "Die, Runt." He pulled the trigger.

Time slowed as Devon fired. His aim was slightly off and the bullet flew through the air and struck the dagger in Runt's hand shattering it and sending metal flying everywhere, one piece cutting her cheek as it flew by. Runt was lucky none of the pieces hit her eyes. Devon grunted in frustration and took aim once again, but suddenly a black and red circle appeared under Devon and several long arms erupted from the ground and seized Devon by the arms, neck, and chest. He was forced to the ground, knocking his weapon away a second time and breaking his gaze from Runt. Runt stumbled, released from Devon's Semblance. Salem floated down, her arm outstretched, her face contorted with effort. Runt realized that she no longer heard any fighting above her, just the sounds of Grimm and a few moans of pain. Salem turned to her.

"My dear," she whispered. "You must be wary of underhanded tactics. Cheap tricks are the weak's greatest strength." She waved to Devon. "But you have suffered enough. Kill your tormentor, take your revenge." Her outline seemed to shiver, then with apparent effort, solidified again.

Runt glanced down at her broken dagger, now useless. Before she could question how, Salem lifted her chin with her other hand. Runt shivered under her touch. "Use your Semblance girl. Make your own weapon."

"I...I don't know how."

Salem's outline shimmered again. "Think about how you felt when you first used it. Feel those thoughts again. Let it fuel your power."

Runt closed her eyes and thought back. The fear. The sense of betrayal. The rage.

The hate for Eve.

She opened her eyes as the pieces of the dagger flew to her. They glowed red, as if superheated and fused together. As it faded, the dagger reformed, black as death, longer, thinner, with a wicked point. Runt stood, no longer shaking. She strode to Devon, pinned to the ground. His eyes were covered now, but he aimed his head toward her. His face was filled with rage.

"You'll always be nothing, Runt. You're trading one master for another. Nothing has changed."

Salem floated to Runt's side, resting a hand on her shoulder. "She has more power now than you ever did, Devon. Look at you. Living in this squaller, without allies, without weapons. And..." the Grimm arms covering his face suddenly flexed. Devon screamed and fresh blood ran from his face. "Now you have no eyes. I think this evens things out." She lowered her arm and the portal beneath Devon vanished, freeing him. He stood, stumbling in pain. Salem turned to Runt. "You've earned this girl. Enjoy it."

Runt tightened her grip on her dagger, her eyes fixated on Devon's stumbling form. She would. And she would take her time.

Much later, Runt crawled from the hole to take her place next to Salem. She felt drained, but her tiredness paled at the feeling of freedom that filled her heart. She didn't even flinch at the Grimm that surrounded her. But she hesitated as she noticed several bandits still alive, but wounded.

"Why did you let them live?" she asked. Salem smiled down at her.

"I was saving them for you."

Runt hesitated. The person responsible for her torment was dead in a hole. She had her revenge; she didn't feel the need for vengeance on the others as she did with him. Salem frowned as if reading her thoughts.

"These Humans," she said the word as if referring to a disgusting stain. "Are your enemies. They are all the same. Did anyone come to find you all this time? Did anyone try to help you escape? No one cared about you here." She beckoned her to follow her and made her way to one of the bodies. The woman was still alive and was just able to raise her head. It was Baylee.

"Runt..." she whispered. Her eyes filled with fear. "I...I didn't know! I didn't know what Devon was planning for you! I would never—"

Salem raised her hand again and the portal from before appeared, summoning the arms that bound Baylee to the ground and gagged her. Salem bent down and looked into her terrified eyes.

"Don't lie," she whispered. "I am the Mistress of Grimm. You cannot hide anything from me." She straightened, motioning toward a crowd of Grimm. They moved aside, admitting a Grimm Runt had never seen before. It was like a jellyfish, floating several feet above the ground, each of its tentacles ending in a toothlike claw. It floated to Runt and she saw something appear in the bulb on the top. It was Baylee and her hunters darting from side to side. It took a moment for Runt to realize she was looking at the action from the point of the view of the Beowolf that had been captured.

"—got it!" yelled an unseen hunter. "Tie it down! Tie it down!"

The figures blurred as the Beowolf attempted to break free, but was overwhelmed. Baylee reappeared above the Beowolf.

"Good work, boys!" she said, her eyes flashing with excitement. "Devon's going to be pleased with this one!"

"What does he want this for anyway?" asked one of the others. "Come on, Baylee, you're killing me with the suspense!"

Baylee laughed. "Alright, alright. Devon wanted to make it a surprise, but I guess you deserve it. Apparently, he wants to throw it in with the kids for a grand finale before we leave. Should be fun to watch! He's hoping for the three of them, but Runt will do just fine. Personally, I don't think she'll last ten seconds!" She laughed again, her face encompassing the orb.

Runt was still for several seconds. Her heart was pounding like a bass drum. She looked down at Baylee, who squirmed and struggled to speak through the gag.

Runt didn't deceive herself. No one in Devon's camp never treated her well. But she had been Devon's property; everything they did was under his orders and supervision. To see they held her in such contempt, with absolutely no pity, knowingly complicit in Devon's idea...

Runt began to shake. She looked up at Salem. "How many are left?"

Salem gave her another smile, but this was one of satisfaction. Her outline was no longer undefined or shimmered. "There are about a dozen left."

Runt began to walk closer to Baylee, who struggled harder, tears falling from her eyes. "That will do...to start."

 ** _Epilogue_**

Eve sighed as she made her way through the slums of Mistral. Her head bowed against the rain, she hurried home, trying to avoid any gang members that might be roaming the streets. She needn't have worried. No one was wondering the streets in this weather.

It had been many years since her family and friends had been murdered by bandits, had left that poor girl behind. She had to keep her brother safe and the only opportunity appeared the day Devon took them all to his latest raiding site. She had hoped the girl only known as Runt had somehow gotten away. She had told the authorities about the bandits when they finally made it to Mistral, but by the time the Huntsmen had been organized and made it to their old farm, there was no trace of them. When pressed for details, they finally told her the scene they had come across; evidence of a massive Grimm attack, leaving behind no survivors and fewer bodies. What was left could not be identified, but nothing came close to matching anything that might have been a young girl.

Eve had put it out of her mind. Being orphans was hard enough without worrying about the fate of that girl. Shuffled from home to home, Eve was more than glad to strike out on her own. The meager monetary assistance that Mistral offered once she turned eighteen was not nearly enough to help her and her brother, who she gained full custody of, so she had to work two jobs to pay rent. Eric got a job as a currier to help, but it was dangerous to do so in Mistral's underbelly.

Eve made it to the house she lived in with her brother. Despite its dilapidated look, Eve liked the house. It was out of the way from the main road and relatively safe from the gangs that roamed the other back streets. She stood at the front door, fumbling for her keys. Eve wondered if Eric had started making dinner. He was actually getting good at throwing together whatever was around into soups. That sounded perfect for a day like today.

She opened the door and stepped inside, turning to shut the door.

"Eric? You home?" She tossed her bag by the door and slid off her hood. "Today wasn't bad, talked to Mr. Trip about a raise. You know how he is, wanted to think about it. But Mrs. Tompson offered me some work, might be good to—" she stopped as she turned.

The house only had three rooms, a room that doubled as a kitchen and living room, a single bedroom, and a bathroom. Seated in one of the old, ripped armchairs that Eric had found on one of his deliveries, was a dark haired woman in a red dress trimmed with gold. And lying on the floor, bound and gagged by some kind of black rope, was Eric, his eyes bulging with fear.

"Eric!" Eve made to rush forward, but the woman put her finger to her lips, the other hand resting on a sword at her side.

Eve stopped. She had a bat in the bedroom, but there was no way she would reach it in time. She had never seen this woman before. Her best bet was this was some kind of new enforcer. She would have to pay whatever protection money they demanded, then maybe she and Eric would try to move somewhere else.

"Who are you? What do you want from us?"

The woman laughed softly. "Oh, you don't recognize me? Well, it has been a long time."

Eve frowned. A bell rang in her head, but the details were blurry. "I know you? From where? What is your name?"

The woman's smile twitched slightly. "The name I go by is Cinder. Cinder Fall. But you never knew my true name. You didn't care. Not really. Just like you didn't care when you left me for dead in that forest."

Eve's heart stopped. And she saw the resemblance. But she looked different now; both beautiful and terrifying. Her smile was cold and her eyes...her eyes were brimming with something akin to excitement.

"You..." Eve whispered. "Oh my God, you survived! We sent Huntsmen to the farm when we got to Mistral. They found it completely destroyed, they couldn't find you anywhere." Tears formed in her eyes, in fear or relief, she really couldn't tell. "They looked and looked, but you were gone."

Cinder examined her sleeve, brushing off the dust from the chair. "Yes, but you abandoned me."

"I didn't want to! I...I had to protect Eric! Please, he's my brother!"

"Oh, it all worked out in the end," said Cinder. "Without you, I wouldn't have discovered my Semblance. I wouldn't have been able to kill Devon. So, in a way, I should be thanking you." Her smile vanished. "But you couldn't have known what would happen. If things were different, I would have died, a plaything for the bandits to enjoy, throwing my life away for entertainment. And you and your brother are responsible. It took me a long time to track you down."

Eric rolled on the floor, trying to speak through his gag. Cinder stomped on his back, causing him to howl with pain through the rope.

"No!" Eve cried, falling to her knees before her. "Please, no! I'll do anything! Please, just leave us alone! We won't tell anyone, I swear!"

Cinder reached out and swung her sword, hitting Eve's face with the flat of the blade. Eve fell, tasting blood in her mouth.

"Weak!" hissed Cinder, contempt and derision thick in her tone. "Cowards! Hiding in this pathetic shack from thugs who can only dream of real power. Now, you seek to pacify me for your lives? The weak don't deserve to live in this world, scrambling in the mud like bugs to be exterminated."

Eve spat blood and looked at Cinder, tears raining down her face.

"Please, please Cinder! I'm begging you, don't hurt me or my brother!"

"Sorry," said Cinder, bending over so they were face to face. A cruel, twisted smile spread across her face. "I can't."


End file.
